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o cavil about minor infelicities。 Ashes wouldn't hurt any one if taken in moderation； you couldn't see the mould in a perfectly dark hotel； and the bread was good。
The feast was prolonged until a late hour； but the fingertips that had accurately counted money in a dark pocket could ascertain in a dark hotel that a store of food still remained。 He pulled the blankets about him and sank comfortably to rest。 There was always some way。
Breakfast the next morning began with the promise of only moderate enjoyment。 Somehow in the gray light sifting through the windows the beans did not look as good as they had tasted the night before； and the early mouthfuls were less blithesome on the palate than the remembered ones of yesterday。 He thought perhaps he was not so hungry as he had been at his first encounter with them。 He delicately removed a pocket of ashes from the centre； and tried again。 They tasted better now。 The mould of tender tints was again visible but he made no effort to avoid it。 For his appetite had reawakened。 He was truly hungry； and ate with an entire singleness of purpose。
Toward the last of the meal his conscious self feebly prompted him to quit； to save against the inevitable hunger of the night。 But the voice was ignored。 He was now clay to the moulding of the subconscious。 He could have saved a few of the beans when reason was again enthroned； but they were so very few that he fatuously thought them not worth saving。 Might as well make a clean job of it。 He restored the stewpan and spoon to their places and left his hotel。 He was fed。 To…day something else would have to happen。
The plush hat cocked at a rakish angle； he walked abroad with something of the old confident swagger。 Once he doubtfully fingered the sprouting beard； but resolutely dismissed a half…formed notion of finding out how the Holden lot barber would regard a proposition from a new patron to open a charge account。 If nothing worse than remaining unshaven was going to happen to him； what cared he？ The collar was still pretty good。 Why let his beard be an incubus？ He forgot it presently in noticing that the people arriving on the Holden lot all looked so extremely well fed。 He thought it singular that he should never before have noticed how many well…fed people one saw in a day。
Late in the afternoon his explorations took him beyond the lower end of his little home street； and he was attracted by sounds of the picture drama from a rude board structure labelled the High Gear Dance Hall。 He approached and entered with that calm ease of manner which his days on the lot had brought to a perfect bloom。 No one now would ever suppose that he was a mere sightseer or chained to the Holden lot by circumstances over which he had ceased to exert the slightest control。
The interior of the High Gear Dance Hall presented nothing new to his seasoned eye。 It was the dance…hall made familiar by many a smashing five…reel Western。 The picture was； quite normally； waiting。 Electricians were shoving about the big light standards； cameras were being moved； and bored actors were loafing informally at the round tables or chatting in groups about the set。
One actor alone was keeping in his part。 A ragged； bearded； unkempt elderly man in red shirt and frayed overalls； a repellent fell hat pulled low over his brow； reclined on the floor at the end of the bar； his back against a barrel。 Apparently he slept。 A flash of remembrance from the Montague girl's talk identified this wretched creature。 This was what happened to an actor who had to peddle the brush。 Perhaps for days he had been compelled to sleep there in the interests of dance…hall atmosphere。
He again scanned the group； for he remembered； too； that the Montague girl would also be working here in God's Great Outdoors。 His eyes presently found her。 She was indeed a blonde hussy； short… skirted； low…necked； pitifully rouged； depraved beyond redemption。 She stood at the end of the piano； and in company with another of the dance…hall girls who played the accompaniment； she was singing a ballad the refrain of which he caught as 〃God calls them Angels in Heaven； we call them Mothers here。〃
The song ended； the Montague girl stepped to the centre of the room； looked aimlessly about her； then seized an innocent bystander； one of the rough characters frequenting this unsavoury resort； and did a dance with him among the tables。 Tiring of this； she flitted across the room and addressed the bored director who impatiently awaited the changing of lights。 She affected to consider him a reporter who had sought an interview with her。 She stood erect； facing him with one hand on a hip； the other patting and readjusting her blonde coiffure。
〃Really；〃 she began in a voice of pained dignity； 〃I am at a loss to understand why the public should be so interested in me。 What can I say to your readersI who am so wholly absorbed in my art that I can't think of hardly anything else？ Why will not the world let us alone？ Hold ondon't go！〃
She had here pretended that the reporter was taking her at her word。 She seized him by a lapel to which she clung while with her other arm she encircled a post； thus anchoring the supposed intruder into her private affairs。 〃As I was saying；〃 she resumed； 〃all this publicity is highly distasteful to the artist； and yet since you have forced yourself in here I may as well say a few little things about how good I am and how I got that way。 Yes； I have nine motor cars； and I just bought a lace tablecloth for twelve hundred bones〃
She broke off inconsequently； poor victim of her constitutional frivolity。 The director grinned after her as she danced away； though Merton Gill had considered her levity in the worst of taste。 Then her eye caught him as he stood modestly back of the working electricians and she danced forward again in his direction。 He would have liked to evade her but saw that he could not do this gracefully。
She greeted him with an impudent grin。 〃Why； hello； trouper！ As I live； the actin' Kid！〃 She held out a hand to him and he could not well refuse it。 He would have preferred to 〃up…stage〃 her once more； as she had phrased it in her low jargon； but he was cornered。 Her grip of his hand quite astonished him with its vigour。
〃Well； how's everything with you？ Everything jake？〃 He tried for a show of easy confidence。 〃Oh； yes； yes； indeed； everything is。〃
〃Well； that's good； Kid。〃 But she was now without the grin； and was running a practised eye over what might have been called his production。 The hat was jaunty enough； truly a hat of the successful； but all below that； the not…too…fresh collar； the somewhat rumpled coat； the trousers crying for an iron despite their nightly compression beneath their slumbering owner； the shoes not too recently polished； and； more than all； a certain hunted though still…defiant look in the young man's eyes； seemed to speak eloquently under the shrewd glance she bent on him。
〃Say； listen here； Old…timer； remember I been trouping man and boy for over forty year and it's hard to fool meyou working？〃
He resented the persistent levity of manner； but was coerced by the very apparent real kindness in her tone。 〃Well；〃 he looked about the set vaguely in his discomfort； 〃you see； right now I'm between picturesyou know how it is。〃
Again she searched his eyes and spoke in a lower tone： 〃Well； all rightbut you needn't blush about it； Kid。〃 The blush she detected became more flagrant。
〃Well； Iyou see〃 he began again； but he was saved from being explicit by the call of an assistant director。
〃Miss Montague。 Miss Montaguewhere's that Flips girlon the set； please。〃 She skipped lightly from him。 When she returned a little later to look for him he had gone。
He went to bed that night when darkness had made this practicable； and under his blankets whiled away a couple of wakeful hours by running tensely dramatic films of breakfast； dinner； and supper at the Gashwiler home。 It seemed that you didn't fall asleep so quickly when you had eaten nothing since early morning。 Never had he achieved such perfect photography as now of the Gashwiler corned… beef hash and light biscuits； the Gashwiler hot cakes and sausage； and never had Gashwiler so impressively carved the Saturday night four…rib roast of tender beef。 Gashwiler achieved a sensational triumph in the scene； being accorded all the closeups that the most exacting of screen actors could wish。 His knife…work was perfect。 He held his audience enthralled by his technique。
Mrs。 Gashwiler； too； had a small but telling part in the drama to… night； only a character bit； but one of those poignant bits that stand out in the memory。 The subtitle was； 〃Merton； won't you let me give you another piece of the mince pie？〃 That was all； and yet； as screen artists say； it got over。 There came very near to being not a dry eye in the house when the simple words were flashed beside an insert of thick； flaky…topped mince pies with quarters cut from them to reveal their noble interiors
Sleep came at last while he was regretting that lawless orgy of the morning。 He needn't have cleaned up those beans in that silly way。 He could have left a good half of them。 He ran what might have been considered a split…reel c